Message-ID: <3717eli$9709041806@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: gentclub@hotmail.com (Stroker Ace) Subject: Beyond Chiang Mai - A Bangkok slaver story - Chap 6 - NC, mf Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii X-No-Archive: yes Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3413e8fb.13224113@news.gate.net> Beyond Chiang Mai A Bangkok Slaver Story WARNING! Contains sex and violence forced upon a woman by both male and females. The story is for mature adults who can maintain a distinction no matter how vague, between reality and fiction. It is intense. You have been warned. (c) 1997, Stroker Ace Beyond Chiang Mai Chapter -- 6, Arc Light "Its run by the monks. Some renegade military officers provide the security," for once Slash was in a talkative mood. "They fly in from around the world. Last of the great white slavery sales for western women. They wouldn't miss it for anything." He laughed. "Round eyes are so popular over here. They love `em all but the blondes and redheads are hot tickets. Some are looking for some new pussy others to trade up. But they are all looking." It was mid-morning in the jungle but there was an electricity in the air. Like Times Square on new year's eve or Carnival in Rio. Native girls topless in their prettiest flowered sarongs and monks in orange robes hustled around. The guest, mostly men emerged from their tents to follow the scent of bacon and coffee to the large food tent. Pretty girls directed well-fed men of all nationalities to the main gathering. The girl gave us badges, stating simply: `owner' and directed us to the captives cages at the treeline. Colleen. It was the first time, this morning, that I thought of my wife. The place was a nightmare of activity. Monks shepherded two and three girls one way and the other all the while hollering in Thai and Cambodian. Some girls were nude others with hair wrapped in white towels. Native women escorted the taller western girls in exquisite costumes. A stunning Dallas Cheerleader, her costume perfect down to the white go-go boots and little v in her waist band, passed, led by two Cambodian girls. Another ran behind the taller woman, brushing at the blonde's hair as she walked. We found Colleen with her escorts by the costumes. The dirty pack mule had been transformed into a vision of beauty. Bathed and rosy pink, her hair wrapped in a towel wearing only white mules. My shinny silver rings hung from puffy erect nipples. They were gorgeous matching exactly to her auroras. She was nude but relaxed, feeling the material of the costumes, holding them against her body as she turned striking a pose. "Do you like? How about this one? I doesn't hide much does it? Oh, look at this one." It looked like Macys. Racks of clothing had been set up. Monks with tape measures around their necks, scissors in hand were fitting skin tight gowns. We steeped aside for what must be the sexiest nun ever to wear a habit go by at the end of a leash. The sexual energy was contagious. Amazingly women who had been kept in a cage all night, eagerly turned around, giving a little shimmy, to see how they looked in a mirror. "You hurry. Hurry. Computer say she 1:13. Must do hair. No much time." She was as excited as the rest. As if to make her point she ran a hand through Colleen's damp red hair. But Slash was not to be hurried. He picked a dress making her try it on. Even the monks stopped to watch as with arms up, the dress falling over her head, she wiggled her nude body until it fell in place. She stepped in and out of cowgirl boots, a school girl outfit, two types of nurse costumes. Then he saw it. An off-white gown, of lace and embroidery that hung limp on the rack. Two tailors ran over when he touched it. With the greatest of care they eased it over Colleen, tenderly smoothing the flimsy fabric over her breasts. It was a vision. "She get hair done now. I must have her ready for 1:13. Hurry bitch." One lady was not impressed. ++++ A rock pit, I guessed. Abandoned ages ago. Giant blocks of quartz lay at the bottom of the huge pit. The excavation had left steps as they dug further down for the valuable quartz. It was a natural amphitheater. The steps made seating for the Arabs who tended to sit together while the few Italian men sat with their women. Elegant, but so obviously trained women, they smiled, attending to every need of their man before he realized it. They held a lighted cigar to his lips and took it away before he could open his mouth to speak. The pit echoed with greetings in all languages as the guest introduced themselves. Our owners badges were good for a third row seat besides a Mexican estate owner who only wanted to talk of his possessions, his ranch, quarter horses, his twin engine jet, prize bulls. "Senior, trust me when I say I breed the best Miura in all of Mexico. And now, mi amigo, I will breed the best of women. Beauty like no other. Hair as golden as my Mexican sun and ahh, she will have the spirit. Si. Mucho spirit, like conquistador. Si. Miguel read each dossier on computer. I have blood lines of each researched. Pinkerton's want mucho peso's. I say, no matter. The egg, she is everything. No?" Slash was having the same problem. At his elbow sat a heavy set man in a white linen jacket. He was huge with an enormous stomach. Apparently his appetite for women was just as strong. "Took the Concord to Bangkok. Dreadfully narrow plane, but I got this dam hot stewardess. Bitch was playing hard to get. All I wanted was a little head, you know, to pass the time. Offered her a couple of bills. The French bitch turned me down. Called me a fat slob. Well I am no dam slob. Ha. Haa" The man held his stomach and roared with laughter. "To make the long story short, I had to go up to two fifty for her to meet me in the galley." "Two fifty?" "Twenty-five hundred, son. Told the bitch, for that money, I want her `cuffed to the counter. Haa. Haa. Shot all over the bitches face. On her uniform, everywhere. Stuffed a couple of bills in her bra and left her `cuffed to the sink. Haa. Haa. Cost me a few bucks more to keep the other stew quiet, but hell, it was worth it. Its only pocket change anyway. For all I know, son, she is still on her knees. Haa. Haa." "Senior's! Quedo! Pocico quiet. The stage, look." My rancher friend was right. The ever present monks had finished erecting scaffolding on the stage turning it over to the MC, an Asian with a phony cowboy drawl. His grin flickered across a giant sports screen. The monks, their heads shaved, bowed to the audience, pleased with their technology. "Gentleman, and ladies. Your attention please. First a big hand for our gracious hosts, the Xieng Khuang order. Again the monks bowed to applause. And now, what you have been waiting for," he drawled. His next words were lost in the hoots and hollers. Down the steps, through the audience, two girls led the pretty cheerleader. The girl was pale, her eyes wide with fear. Between each step her eyes darted around until the chain yanked her to the next step. All the while the MC drawled on about her. Birth date, sign, where she grew up, how many men she had slept with, he knew it all. By the time she took the stage the bidding had started. A big man, by the looks of it, her owner joined her on stage. Taking her leash he displayed her best features. Her breasts were pushed up into the little cheerleader top, a silver star on each boob. He had her bend over and shake her tits into the camera. The bidding crawled higher. He looked at the number on the giant screen, shook his head, and ripped the top from the startled girl. The numbers crept up. Miguel, my rancher friend, typed at his little computer. "I have a question," the MC read from his screen, "A gentleman wants to know if she has spirit. Perhaps you could demonstrate?" "Sprit? I will show you spirit!" Her owner was enraged. The numbers on the big screen had not changed. "Here! Now!," he commanded. Cheerleader started to whimper but the cute cowgirl knew not to disobey. She inched closer, whining louder with each baby step. Her owner snapped at her wrists, the metal rings engulfing her. An electric motor whirled to life pulling her arms straight up. Cheerleader was straining from her white cowgirl boots with the silver stars to her little top, the top star barely keeping her breasts in. He choose his instrument. A white bull whip. Cheerleader was crying openly now. No hesitation. A full swing, the announcer jumping back to avoid the brutal arc of white leather. A direct hit on her breast. The camera man zoomed in. Her top saved her. A ragged tear ran from one luscious breast to the other. It could have been her breast hanging, ragged and torn, from bare trembling shoulders. "Stick your cunt out. Open dem pretty legs, Texas," the man demanded of the crying girl as he arranged the tail of the whip behind him. He was ready for another stroke. Cheerleader was sobbing, but she never begged. She turned her back to him, preferring her backside for the next horrendous stroke. Hands above her she hopped from leg to leg, pulling each up in dreadful fear of his next stroke. But it never came. The crowd was applauding. They recognized the courage it took to defy his order. The Arabs waved white handkerchiefs in the air. The numbers were rolling up, as the MC went into his auctioneer's song. "Going, going, sold!" The buyer stood to receive a round of applause. "A fine specimen at a great price. Your property will be waiting for you, Sir, in the holding pens. Please complete the shipping form on your computer. We can have her drugged and shipped or perhaps you would like transport her yourself. Now gentleman, I must warn you. That was a steal. The fine slaves that we have coming up, will sell for much, much more. Charlie, what do we have next?" Charlie, a native girl in an emerald evening dress sparkling with sequins, read from the giant screen. "Lee, we have a special treat for our friends. From our agent in Bangkok, a rare combination set. Lee, this is a must have for collectors everywhere. It features a pair of British roses, so delicate but watch out for the thorns." Charlie laughed with the audiences. She moved across stage with the microphone. "But that's not all. There is a last minute addition. A fresh American blossom, so well formed but alas, untrained. Not at all like the roses from Britain. Our agent, informs us that they have been completely trained, but not broken. Lee, I hope this meets with the approval of our honored guests." "Thank you Charlie. I am sure it will. Now, bring them on." Immediately I knew. It was little Sarah, only she did not look anything at all, like the virginal girl playing soccer on the green fields of St. Agatha's. She wore skin tight leather so glossy the light exploded off washing out the picture on screen. And boots, black heels so high that she had to be helped up the steps. The camel toe crack of her pussy lips was outlined in black leather tights. Tiny little breasts, still budding, were squeezed and pushed up, into a black leather halter. I felt myself swelling at the sight of her strutting across the stage. The perfect little slut. Then I saw her. Two monks were holding her back. With a twist she broke free, kicking off her shoes, running to join her daughter. Ms Roxanne Bodwell. Loving mother of Sarah. Sr. Flight attendant, in line for a high paying management position. Gone missing after a vacation to see the ruins in Thailand. Now I found her. Standing on a slave auction stage, nude as the day 36 years ago when she was born. Someone had decided that she was not to be permitted the dignity of a costume at her own sale. Still there was something about her that captivated the audience. It was in her posture, her moves, a certain dignity. She was nude but unbroken. She kept a hand in front of her sex as she stood protectively by her daughter. Her look was defiant, saying, `try that with my daughter and I will kill you if I can.' All the while, Lee called measurements, age, everything about her. Roxanne was as bare as a slave can be. "Please gentlemen, wait. I am not accepting bids yet." Lee was talking. "There is one more to complete the set. A late addition that did not make the program. You could say that she is walk in. From America, an exceptional beauty, a trainers delight, I am honored to offer the body, sex and mind of this woman for your every pleasure, without a slave name she answers to Colleen." My jaw dropped. Finally I had to accept it. My wife being pulled up the stairs, to be sold. The beautiful gown she wore only allowed the tiniest of steps. Some dress, skin tight with a sheer spot over her pussy, cut aways leaving the silver hoops in her freshly pierced nipples exposed. A virginal whore, ready for her training. The monks pushed her in place along side Sarah. There they stood, a trained slut, still just a teen, her mother somehow more elegant, infinitely desirable. The third, with obvious chastity a challenge to your training and a gorgeous beauty. A virgin for training. How would she behave? The crowed stands were hooting and hollering, the distinctive Arab catcalls cutting above all. Like the Roxanne and Sarah, orange robes quickly secured her ankle with a chain. Charlie, the girl with the microphone, went to stand between the unfortunate captives. There she paused flipping her long hair and smoothing an already perfect gown over sexy hips. Without a word she had asserted her superiority. "Lee, we have Anhtuyet, previously known as Sarah. The computer says that she is an accomplished cock sucker and fucker, Lee. She performs well with both men and girls, heehee. Men, perhaps you would like to take her home and break her of that nasty lezbo habit. I know I would, heehee. Sarah, say something for your fans," she held out the microphone as if afraid that she would catch something from the little girl. "Er, I am a worthless floozy. I suck and fuck. I can be anything you want. Just be nice to my mom." "Oh how sweet. A mothers girl. And here is Mom. Her name is Roxanne. Look at that body, those tits. Could be bigger but great shape. Not bad for 36, huh guys?" "How could you?," Roxanne pushed the microphone from her face. "Can't you see they are using you? You are just like us." "Oh you. You. You dog!," Charlie was furious. "Kneel to me, worthless dog. Down!" She reached out. "Give me that." Whack! Charlie struck with a short whip. She hit like how girls throw balls, elbow too far out for any strength but on Roxanne's bare shoulders it had the desired effect. She fell to her knees at Charlie's green heels, head lowered but not protecting herself with her hands. She was use to being strapped much harder. "Now, dog, who is using who? Go on, say something, bitch. Open that hole. Girl, get over here. Take this and do your mom. Go on. Open for her bitch." Charlie pushed little Sarah in front of the kneeling woman. Her pointed toe kicked Roxanne's legs apart. Sarah had no choice. Gingerly, she took the whip, examining its leather handle for a moment. But Charlie's foot was impatient. To avoid another kick she began working it into her cunt. Roxanne's chin raised, unable to avoid the sexual and humiliating feelings welling up inside until overflowing in shame she cried out. Her anguished cry shook Colleen. "I am not for sale!," she shrieked, her foot tugging at the chain to the laughs of the men. "You pierced me, but you will never have me!" "Who owns this unprepared bitch?" Lee was getting annoyed. "Will her owner please come on stage before she damages herself." I saw her cringe at the sight of Slash, or was it the white whip. Sarah stopped to look, Roxanne's head turned. Charlie retreated to Lee's side. All looked at the pleading Colleen. "Not that, Sir. Come on, you already had my nipples pierced, had me fucked. Not the whip." "But you haven't learned, have you Colleen? One of these fine gentlemen will be buying you. You want to show him what you are made of, don't you? What you can take. What will you be, Colleen? A pampered fuck and suck toy?" A few clapped. Others joined in. Soon there was a thunderous round of applause. "Maybe you would make a good pain slut, spending you days in a dungeon, waiting for your master." A few `woos' and that throaty cry that Arabs make, came from the eager crowd. "Which will it be Colleen?" "Lets find out." The first strike hit the stunned girl on her thigh wrapping around her bottom. The swing did not look that hard but Colleen jumped, the chain pulling her leg from under her. She scrambled, trying to find her feet leaving an inviting target. She danced on hands and knees, throwing her body from side to side, but the whip found her every time, cutting at the frilly wedding dress. Soon the dress hung in ragged strips from her waist. Her legs and ass were stung bright pink but the skin was not broken. It was then that I realized his skill and precision. "Not bad. She takes the whip well," my heavyset friend beside me said. "But needs training. She yells too much for the light stuff," Miguel, my rancher friend added. "It's her inexperience." The announcer was speaking, "The computers are humming." I could read the questions for myself, on the big screen. "They all want to know if she takes cock well." "A little undisciplined, but not bad." Slash helped my wife to her feet. He thought for a second before adding, "Great potential." The strips of cloth were easily torn away leaving Colleen nude from the waist down. She was dazed, looking over hew own body, relieved to see that she was not torn apart. "Here, I'll show you." "Colleen, come here and suck me," he ordered. Like a slap to the face, that brought her back. She glared at him, again aware of the crowd beyond, the girls staring at her, the unflinching eye of the camera. Slash waited. She tried. Pulling her self straight, chin raised, with all the dignity she could muster. "Go to hell." But her crackling voice betrayed her. "I am waiting." It was not even a warning, only a statement. The look flashed across that pretty face. Her shoulders shrugged, making the silver hoops in her nipples flash in the camera's lights and she steeped towards him as if going to the gallows. He gently pushed her hands away. She bent to take his offered organ in her mouth. Finding that too hard, she dropped to one knee. The camera man scurried around to get the best angle. She took him barely capturing the head, eyes closed. Slash shrugged, as if to say `I told you so.' He patted her head, withdrawing from her mouth. "Lay down girl. Reginald come up here." I jumped to hear my name called. Everyone was looking as I climbed the steps. "Take her." "I c can't," I said, but I could feel it was not true. She was irresistible laying with red hair spilling about her face, her bottom was cris-crossed with dark pink lines, her breast warm pink, nipples puffy with silver rings sticking out of the white lace of her torn dress. I had to have her, my wife. "Reggi, I." I put a hand over her mouth, fumbled for a second before replacing it with my cock. Her tongue blocked me. The camera was inches away. I felt it growing, deep inside and thought of Colleen with her pool boy friend, servicing the emperors, the village. What a lovely face, lips' candy red, those eyes a sea of practiced innocence. I shoved. In and deep. Pulling out and deep in until it was another cunt her emotions fluttering her tongue and throat around my swollen throbbing cock. My cock growing, beyond just an erection. More. Roaring in my ears, the crowd was doing something, I didn't care. I was between her legs, kicking pants off, plunging in deep. One continuous motion. Deep the woman was ready. Deep, long, a rhythm growing, becoming all, not caring only deep and full to her fluttering core against my head, every stroke exploding there, resting there. Slowly the roaring became cheering, stomping, wailing. Slash was withdrawing from Roxanne's face. I would have love to have seen that, with little Sarah licking at his sack as he pumped her mother. "The computers are now open," Lee was trying to get the crowd's attention. "We are accepting bids on any or all the slaves, Lee tells me that the computers can handle it," beautiful Charlie announced. She had the three women stand. Sarah, still in black leather. Roxanne standing nude, her face spotted with drying cum. Colleen with the beauty of a taken woman, makeup ruined, dress in rags, a wet streak inside her thigh. Charlie having each in turn unlocked, to step forward, turn on command, bend, hands above, hands at sides, opening their sex, all upon her command. They complied. "I can't sell her," off to the side, I whispered to Slash. "Then buy her back. Someone is going to take her. All of them. May as well be you." I looked up. Numbers flashed by the names. Something about pairing Sarah with Colleen brought the bidding up. "I can't afford them. Look at the bids!" "You have the insurance money. They don't know about that. Just send in a picture of Sarah alive and well with a letter from her and you get the money. I have credit here. Of course, I will expect to rent them out to cover the interest on my loan. Nothing seedy, just distinguished high paying clientele with a taste for the bizarre. Anyway you need a partner in these parts." That I did. A shocking offer that brought silence from the audience. Slash nodded at Lee, then a growing round of respectful applause. Charlie quickly linked their ankle chains handing Sarah's collar chain to me as the crowd stood, still applauding. Lee hurried to announce the next girl. The crowd quiet as she was led to the stage. There would be other slaves to auction. Slash went with Charlie to sign papers. The chain was as heavy as the girl's fate in my hands. Questions were in their eyes, reading my every expression, for I had become their master. Their pleasure was for my pleasure. "You mistake taking my body for a promise of love," Colleen whispered. "You will be mine. Like this whip, the villa in Joytown that you will work for, the fancy cars you will pay for. Only I will abuse you more and trust you less." I looked each in the eye. They knew I meant every word. "When I call you will come and I will enjoy it. Whether you enjoy it of not, is up to you. But I think you will." -Stroker Ace- gentclub@hotmail.com eof -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /